


A Private Interlude

by indiegal85



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiegal85/pseuds/indiegal85
Summary: Malcolm and Trip finally get some alone time. But is it as private as they think?





	A Private Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from ff.net

With no attempt at gentleness, Trip shoved his lover against the wall and kissed him forcefully. Malcolm groaned as his lips were crushed and returned the kiss with equal ferocity, battling Trip for dominance in a routine that was both familiar and exciting to both men. The two had finally managed to find half an hour when neither was on duty and were not wasting a single second of their precious leisure time. As they shed their jumpsuits, neither was in any state to notice the comm panel on the wall they had been leaning against.

* * *

On the bridge, Hoshi suddenly stiffened, turned bright red and began to tap away frantically on her keypad, earpiece still in place. Unluckily for her, T'pol had also noticed the same thing she had.

"Captain, I'm picking up a transmission. It appears to be being sent from one of the storerooms near the armoury." Captain Archer turned to face her, confusion etched across his features.

"What?" He looked at Hoshi. "Let's hear it, Ensign."

"I.. erm.. don't seem to be able to pick it up," she stammered, unable to look the Captain in the eye. "I've tried to cut the transmission but it's not possible from here."

"What do you mean, you can't pick it up?" Archer strode over to the young woman, who was now so red she looked as if she had been badly sunburned. "What's going on?" Meanwhile, T'pol had also crossed to Hoshi's station and, to Hoshi's horror, began tapping at the keypad.

"I really don't think.." she began, but it was too late. Voices had filled the bridge, and it was a simple matter to guess who they belonged to and exactly what they were doing.

"Ohhhh.." moaned a Southern drawl, interspersed with heavy breathing and other even more suggestive noises. "You like that, huh?"

"Oh, yes," replied another voice, British this time and huskier than usual, "Yes, please! Just like that sir, please!" The first voice chuckled and replied in a low tone,

"Now Malcolm, what've I told you about calling me 'sir' while we're having.." The transmission cut off abruptly. T'pol had finally come to her senses and hit the mute button. The rest of the bridge crew all wore similar expressions of shock. There was no doubt that they had just heard the chief engineer and the armoury officer engaged in a romantic tryst. For a minute, nobody said anything.

"Captain." T'pol was the first to recover. With eyes still wide, Archer turned to her. "We need to end that transmission. If any ships are in the vicinity.." She didn't need to finish the sentence. Suddenly, there was a snort. Travis seemed to be having trouble keeping from laughing, and after a minute Hoshi had to bite back a giggle. T'pol raised an eyebrow.

"Judging by the rest of the crew's reaction, I would recommend that I be the one to deal with this." Travis' shoulders were visibly shaking. Archer nodded once, and without another word T'pol headed for the turbolift. As soon as the door had slid shut behind her, Travis and Hoshi lost all control and howled out loud with laughter. The rest of the bridge crew were chuckling to themselves, and even Archer allowed himself a wry grin at the shock his officers were in for.

* * *

Trip was in heaven, lost in the sensations that surrounded him. He could feel himself losing control when suddenly the most unwelcome sound in the world cut through his pleasure-induced haze. Both men froze.

"Was that the door?" Malcolm whispered. They stayed still for another second, then the door chimed again.

"Shit!" swore Trip under his breath as the two men disentangled themselves and started scrabbling around on the floor to find their clothes. "Just a minute!" he called as they pulled on the layers as fast as they could manage. When they were both decent, if fairly ruffled and sweaty, they opened the door.

"Sub-commander," Malcolm acknowledged, still slightly breathless. T'pol surveyed the men, taking in their flushed faces, disarranged clothes and messy hair. Without a word, she crossed to the wall panel and keyed in a command. The computer chimed, signalling the end of the transmission.

"My apologies for disturbing you." She nodded to the two men and left the storeroom. They looked at each other with identical masks of horror plastered on their faces.

"Please tell me she didn't just do what I think she did," Malcolm asked, a note of sheer panic in his voice. Trip swallowed.

"Sorry to tell you this Malcolm, but I think our little interlude wasn't as private as we were hoping."


End file.
